“The woods are lovely dark and deep..” Was he thinking what I’m thinking?

Whose woods these are I think I know,
His house is in the village though.
He will not see me stopping here,
To watch his woods fill up with snow.

My little horse must think it queer,
To stop without a farmhouse near,
Between the woods and frozen lake,
The darkest evening of the year.

He gives his harness bells a shake,
To ask if there is some mistake.
The only other sound’s the sweep,
Of easy wind and downy flake.

The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.

Robert Frost.

Was he thinking of suicide? This is exactly how I feel when I sit in my dark room looking at my helium tank and exit bag. The “horse” and the “But I have promises to keep” parts keeps stopping me. I wish I could just get it over with.